Armed with massive hangovers from the champs and non pizza, we knew that getting to breakfast was extremely important. After a lot of giggling about Windbreaker, whom we decided needed the first name Claude as he is obviously from the French speaking region of Brussels, we amazingly got ourselves clothed and went on the most likely impossible quest of finding out where to go for breakfast.
Turns out it wasn’t too impossible, the girls at the front desk did know how to provide this information for a change, granted we were once again told about an exclusive place over the bridge…far travel was not an option on this morning, I had a funny feeling no one was going to be saving any lives on this day without some breakfast in them first.
We were told to grab the free tram and go downtown to The Original, a 50’sish diner with hands down the best orange pop we’ve ever tasted. It was a fancified orange pop all dolled up with some vanilla bean, and would have tasted exceptional with some vodka. But no one wanted vodka. No one.
At The Original we delved into some conversation that was not appropriate for the breakfast table, or most tables for that matter. Not really sure how or why the topic came up, but on this particular morning we were most curious about the process of fisting. Yes I think you heard me correctly. Fisting. Many questions were posed, and many hand diagrams were used in the guessing of the answers to those questions. Stumped, we decided the only ones who could provide us with the knowledge we wanted were our new found friends Mo and Em. We put that in our pockets for later, but not before deciding that LM’s new last name was going to be Fister. First name Iwona. And that she was going to be introduced to someone with this name later on as her punishment for repeatedly singing an annoying song to us that our hangovers did not want to hear.
Immature? Definitely. Worth it? Absolutely.
We finished up our breakfasts, which I know is hard to believe after that conversation and the fact that I was majorly feeling the repercussions of that god damn champagne. Yes I will blame that, and not one of the other 150 drinks I had the day before.
The food was pretty good, and thank god they had poutine on the menu, at least we could safely know that would be taken off the drunken 2 in the morning food topics discussion.
Bill paid; we then went on a search for donuts. Yup, we just ate and now we needed donuts as well. In case you don’t remember, we were all about glamorous and fine gourmet foods this weekend.
The donuts came into play because while at breakfast we kept seeing people cruise by with delightful looking pink boxes of something called Voodoo Donuts. We asked our waitress – yes it was a mistake – where we could find said donuts and she obviously gave us the wrong directions. On our way down to the donut shop we definitely noticed that we were entering an area very similar to something one would call the skids, and this is where we came across Dante’s.
The night before I think that we were dressed in a way that said we don’t want to hang out on the downtown eastside, so I’m not entirely sure why Luke had suggested this place to us when we said we wanted to go for more drinks and some dancing. We didn’t want to do the crack dance Luke, come on man. This is also probably where Adrienne wanted us to end our night as well... Brightside? Dante’s advertises many things on their signage, including salad. That’s exactly what I was thinking of ordering if I ever go there.
We finally found Voodoo Donuts after asking yet another person for directions, this time we got the right ones, probably because he was a normal civilian and not someone working in the hospitality industry in Portland. We were sad to see that there was a HUGE line up to get into this place. Apparently it’s where all the people in Portland where, because the downtown did seem eerily quiet. We opted not to wait 45 minutes for a donut, the champagne wouldn’t allow for it, but we did stop someone with a box of them just to taunt ourselves with what we were missing. They looked incredible. I would call them a trendy donut, as they were made of different crazy concoctions like bacon and maple, NyQuil infused, peanut butter and rice crispies, etc.
When we asked the guy if they were good he looked at us like it was the most obscene thing he’d ever heard. Okay dude we get it, no need to be offended about the donuts. And thank your lucky stars we didn’t ask you about fisting as well.
So we were a little sad about the donuts and we decided we’d try again the next day (we didn’t try very hard). We then traveled up to where the mall was to get our shop on. No one wants to know about this, so I won’t bore you with the details, but during this time is when we received the first of many truly amazing messages from Windbreaker. Get ready, cause here it is... “Wassszuperrrrr”. What????? After laughing our asses off we decided to cut all ties with him, no one should ever respond to someone who intentionally uses a hello in the style of many years past Budweiser commercials. However, that didn’t last long because just in case we didn’t receive that message, he sent it via text as well. Not even knowing how to respond to that in the frame of mind we were in, LM decided to save it for later.
During the shopping portion of our day we finally found some more useful people, the very pretty and fun sales girls at the Betsy Johnson store. They even took the time to write down the names of places AND the directions, the correct directions to boot, and provided us with the wonderful suggestion of going for beers and chicken wings. Not really sure why that was the exact combo that we needed at this point, but it sure did sound fantastic. The place the girls told us to go for wings was you guessed it - over the bridge - but luckily there was another wing place down the street just waiting for us. I didn’t realize Portland specialized in wings, but I’m not complaining that’s for sure.
Exhausted from our wild goose chase for donuts, Windbreakers greeting and the remnants of yesterdays booze we made our way over to Buffalo Wild Wings for a taste explosion in our mouths, and the first of many tranny sightings that was a feast for our eyes.
We were definitely enjoying our frosty beers and outstanding honey BBQ wings – I would have taken a bath in that sauce – and highly recommend the order of these tasty boneless delights should you ever be in the vicinity of a Buffalo Wild Wings. This also turned into an inappropriate discussion of wing sauce on boobs, and a newly coined saying “fingerbang the chicken wing”. What’s wrong with us? Anyways, not really sure why we thought this would be a normal afternoon, how stupid of us, but this is where we come across Deborah Louise – not his/hers name at all, but fitting we thought. It was as if he/she was gift from above, Deb just seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. Not sure why Buffalo Wild Wings was he/she’s hangout of choice, though I wouldn’t begrudge anyone of the wing sauce, it seemed like there could have been a better place for Deb to chill dressed the way he/she was.
We weren’t the only ones in on the Deb joke, men that were using the bathroom with him/her kept coming out with huge smiles on their faces and we were like I know right?! Why is this happening at Buffalo Wild Wings?! The thing is, to each their own, baby you were born this way. If that’s what you’re into I totally have no problem with it at all, but it was the fact that Deb was at BWild in the midst of March Madness, where I’m thinking no one else that was his/her type was at, and that Deb had the full lady ensemble on but decided to forgo a wig. Instead he/she opted to put a tiny pink headband, with a tiny pink bow onto his/hers comb over. Not the best choice Deb. Now if he/she went with a pink baseball hat instead, perhaps things would have been different. Totally jazzed by Deb, we packed up our leftovers to add to our growing food supply and made our way back to the hotel to change, and of course have more drinks.
Here’s where the most amazing BBM transaction EVER went down. Deciding to answer the question “Wassszuperrrrr” with “I don’t know what that means”, a series of other great gems were fired at us as well. I’m just going off memory here, as I am unfortunately not the owner of these truly amazing pieces of BBM art:
LM: What are you doing?
WB: I’m at Mansion
LM: What’s Mansion?
WB: That’s what I call my crib.
WB: Cause it’s in like the Hollywood hills of Portland yo
LM: Do you live with your parents?
WB: I have two roommates
LM: Are they your parents?
And so on. This went on for a good hour, firing back ridiculous questions to Windbreaker such as “Why do you live in a mansion?”, “Do you have a boat?” and when he said he used to but he sold it, answering it with “You should buy one”. When LM asked for a picture of “Mansion”, Claude suddenly went dormant. The only answer we got back to that one was “Its dark”.
Interesting... Seems to me that “Mansion” probably doesn’t exist. Is there no lighting at “Mansion”? Is that why you can’t take a picture? Did you blow all your money on champagne, therefore making you unable to pay your electrical bill at “Mansion”? Color me confused.
But fear not, this would not be the last we heard from dear Claude Windbreaker.
Dressed and ready to rock for another night on the town, we departed for Kell’s Irish Pub. There was a weekend long St. Patrick’s Day festival that was going on there, and much to our delight, there was also a U2 cover band playing that evening. Yes there was.
Enter U277, and most especially the lead singer who is listed on their website with the moniker “As Bono”. At first everything seemed pretty good, the band was doing what seemed to be a pretty good job, “As Bono” was really getting into his role, as were the many ladies surrounding the stage trying to get a piece of his action. I don’t know if they were aware, but it’s “As Bono”, not “Actually Bono”.
We needed to get closer to all of these shenans, so we made our way up to the stage and planted ourselves front row. Surrounding us up there were couples fiercely gyrating, horny cougars touching themselves while filming “As Bono” filming himself, and lot’s of other drunken messes who were singing along, but didn’t actually know any of the words. Being up this close, it seemed the band didn’t know a lot of the words either. He played a good fake out, but “As Bono” didn’t fool me. Being a dedicated U2 fan for almost the entirety of my life, I do actually know the words, so I’m not easily tricked by mumbles and snippets of songs that “Actual Bono” likes to throw into their live stage show. Impressive as it is that “As Bono” actually knows those snippets, he should first learn the proper words. It’s important. Other than that, we enjoyed our time with “As Bono”, and he became a fixture of conversation throughout the evening, next day and probably a lot of our future conversations as well.
We finally got to implement the use of Iwona (pronounced Ivana) Fister at Kell’s as well. Unfortunately it wasn’t with “As Bono”, but it was with a fellow named David – actual name for once! I wasn’t there for the initial presentation, but I was told it went down like this:
My sister doing the introduction of LM: This is Iwona Fister
Kathy: It’s spelt I-W-O-N-A. It’s Russian
David: Your last name is Fister?
Exactly. After David told us about what kind of car he drove (?) and took a picture with us on his phone from 1997, we were ready to eject ourselves from Kell’s and meet up with our friends Mo and Em for drinks, and hopefully some dancing.
Good thing our new friends knew exactly what we needed at this point – dancing and lots of it. They took us to an awesome gay bar called CC Slaughters, where the drinks were cheap, bartenders were few and kind of mean and everyone had the time of their lives.
We also had the pleasure of running into Deb part 2, aptly named Jennifer, who worked in forestry and did not have the nails to prove it. Jennifer had french manicured tips with lots of sparkle, and was wearing a sassy black velvet number to go with them. The only way to celebrate this was to buy him/her a jello shot. And that we did. Along with everyone else in the lineup for drinks. They were $2; I mean they were pretty much giving them away with that price. You couldn’t not buy 1 – 10 of them. After the jello shots, things got silly. There was an excessive amount of boob grabs, we finally confirmed all of our questions about fisting, we were told to take our shirts off on the dance floor numerous times, there was a Gaga, Britney, Ke$ha dance explosion and plenty of gay boyfriends made. It was almost too much fun. Almost.
Because we forgot to eat dinner, we were suddenly hit with a wave of the vomits and needed to leave stat. We sadly said goodbye to our new friends, but I have a sneaking suspicion we will see them again. This time around when we left we finally got a cab driver that wanted us to have food after the bar, and though he had really good intentions, the place where he dropped us off was a little bit of an odd choice. It was called La Merde, and it wasn’t really a place for drunk people. It was a place for people who probably wanted to eat in peace, but were now not allowed too due to us being there. For some reason they seated us right next to some poor couple, but then again maybe they weren’t that sad about it as they did ask us if we wanted to go to the strippers with them when they were leaving. Why would a guy and a girl presumably on a date want 4 girls to hit the strippers with them? Prostitution ring. I know it!
I also felt sorry for our poor waiter because he too was called HEY YOU, and when he asked Kathy what she wanted to order she said “Do you have McDonald’s cheeseburgers on the menu?” HEY YOU of course says no, and Kathy says “Okay. I’m good then”. And went back to drinking her water right out of the pitcher. We on the other hand shared a delicious bowl of macaroni and cheese, which LM did not want anything to do with until it came to the table and then proceeded to eat most of it.
Throwing some money down for our bill, we asked HEY YOU where the nearest McDonald’s was so Kathy could get her cheeseburger fix, like as if he told us a street we’d all of a sudden be experts on where things were in Portland. He didn’t really know, surprise surprise, but he did call us a cab that took us on an $18 adventure to find the one lonely McD’s in the downtown area, patiently waited in the drive thru with us while Kathy decided on not 6, but 8 cheeseburgers. I’m going to tell you that we didn’t need those 8 cheeseburgers, but they definitely got added to our food collection.
To say that this day/night was epic would be true. It was. Once we arrived back at the hotel we had a pretty long discussion on “As Bono” and what we thought he was doing at that exact moment, and what we thought Windbreaker was doing at “Mansion”.
As it turns out we would find out one of those answers the next day....